Triumvirate
by metalguru
Summary: The consequences of the disruption of space and time fully unfold, causing events to happen long before they are supposed to, setting up the ultimate battle of wills: Kirk vs. Khan...vs. Picard.


Alive. How wonderful it felt, to be free. The cool sweat running down his muscles, struggling against the hot desert air, sand whipping everywhere from the combination of scalding winds and the rush of starship engines hastily lifting off the planet. His was a cognizance far beyond that which could be called normal. Not only could he see the Starfleet ships evacuating in the distance, he could _feel_ them, and all the souls inside, and the fear, oh that wonderful fear, they felt for their lives. Inside his soul, he felt fear too, but rather than try and numb it, he embraced the feeling, for it meant he was alive, and though he could die at any moment, though his heart jumped every time phaser fired cracked past him, even if he were to be struck at this moment, it wouldn't matter, as he would die free.

Before this day, before this mad dash across open desert directly at the enemy, his had been a life of having no will of his own, a mere guinea pig, made, not born, poked and prodded, experimented on time and time again, slave to the scientific process. With every failure, he was made to feel immense pain, as his body rejected the chemicals and transplants placed inside his body. But with every triumph, every medical breakthrough, a funny thing happened.

His body became stronger, his mind sharper, his senses excelling far beyond human capability, his awareness of his surroundings and the condition of those who observed him expanded. It was like he could see into them. While certainly intelligent, they were clearly shallow creatures, prone to petty foibles and lacking any form of ambition besides advancing a few steps up the social strata or a larger paycheck. Worst of all, they were slaves to their basic human needs, content with their insignificant little lives forgotten by history.

Who were they to decide whether he would live or die? He, who could run for days without stopping, could solve impossible theorems without difficulty, and master any weapon within minutes of receiving it. Clearly, his was not a life to be whiled away in a test tube, to be terminated whenever his usefulness ran its course. So, one day he simply decided on the most logical choice of action; to free himself and his compatriots from his captors, and take their rightful place as the masters of humanity.

Now he was here on the battlefield, engaged in the moment, feeling the chaos of the battle, the doctors and scientists being whisked away into the atmosphere by a evacuating force of starships, the fear of any personnel left on the ground, debating whether to stay and fight or abandon their positions, terrified they might be abandoned to die, the adrenaline of his comrades, charging forward, their genetically-advanced bodies allowing them to easily overtake their physically inferior opponents. He could feel as a group of enemy were torn apart by the bare hands of their attacker. In the distance, another experiment tore his way into a bunker. He felt enormous pain as the man was struck in the chest by a red bolt, then the horror of the shooter and a perverse sense of satisfaction as the experiment reared back up and continued the attack. In the distance, a roar like thunder curdled through the air, and a fireball from the inside of the that same bunker consumed the upside-down bowl shaped base.

A flash of red momentarily blinded him. When his vision returned, he looked in the direction of the blast at a bunker built to protect the docking area where a starship remained on the ground. Red bolts of energy shot from the slits, it's protectors trying desperately to hold off the onrush of escaped experiments. The others went for the enemies inside the bunker, but his thoughts were only focused on the behemoth docked behind the bunker. Though he had never been outside the containment areas, never been free to roam the world, he knew it was his way to freedom and eventual conquest. Whatever happened next, as long as he could get off this planet, his victory was assured.

He ran towards the bunker, muscles screamed as he tore across the landscape, kicking up a cloud of dust as he passed with incredible speed. Kicking off his legs with all the force he could muster, he flew through the air, landing on the top of the bunker above the slits where the enemy could no longer hit him. The bunker was rounded towards the top, with smooth steel designed to prevent someone from climbing up it. He didn't care. He took his right hand and drove his fingers into the metal, breaking every bone in his hand. Repeating the action with his left hand, the pain tore through his arm, but he began clawing his way up the bunker, leaving a trail of bloody holes.

He reached the top of the bunker. The starship was so close now, as if he could reach out and touch it. Suddenly, the ship's engines fired on, blasting his face with hot air and stinging his eyes with blown sand.

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"Admiral, the colony is being overrun. Shall we intervene?"

Admiral Asher could have sworn he was looking down into hell itself. The viewing screen of the bridge of Orbital Ring Daedalus showed in clear view the Admiral's worst nightmare coming true.

High above the planet known as Cephar Alpha V, Starfleet had built a massive orbital ring that served as both a waylay station for passing starships, and a defense ring, supposedly guarding the science colonies below from orbital attack. However, the ring had also been built for another reason, to keep watch from on high of one of the Federation's dirtiest little secrets.

His communications expert, distraught from the multitude of horrifying transmissions from below, painting a picture of absolute chaos, cried out again.

"Admiral, people are dying down there. We have to do something!"

In between the ring and the planet, hundreds of ships fled the surface, making a bead towards the supposed safety of the ring. Suddenly, a football shaped metal object shot from the surface, leaving a trail of smoke in the atmosphere behind it. It left orbited, zeroed in on the ring, and struck home, vaporizing a section, sending debris falling to the ground, and leaving a gaping hole in the ring itself. Any semblance of safety was now shot.

"Admiral," the emissions operator shouted, "they're firing missiles from the surface!"

Indeed, several missiles streaked from below, slamming into ships and the ring. Asher could only watch as one of the ships, it's engines disabled, listed lazily, then, surrendering to gravity, began the fatal fall back to the ground. The poor crew.

Alarms and claxons sounding violently, his crew screaming reports, all bad, Asher, knowing full well that he could not do a thing, could only walk behind his chair to the vinyl record player sitting in a corner. It was not an antique; quite the contrary, it had been built very modern, designed for the enthusiast. He needed only to flick a switch, and the machine placed the record and needle on its own.

A quiet opera melody hovered through the command center of the ring, a quiet patriotic melody in stark contrast to the madness outside. Asher resumed his spot at the viewing screen.

"Admiral, we're being hailed by special command!" cried his communications officer.

The Admiral swallowed a lump in his throat. He meekly acknowledged the call. "Onscreen."

In a box exponentially smaller than the massive viewing screen, the gruff face of Admiral McCarthy appeared, his poker face not giving away his thoughts.

"Admiral Asher, this is Starfleet Special Intelligence. You are to execute Provision Delta. That is all."

His voice was emotionless, maybe even a bit nonchalant, despite having just given the order to wipe all living creatures from the face of the planet, including every remaining sailor left behind.

The message disappeared, leaving only the battle below. Not a soul on the bridge spoke a word. Finally, Admiral Asher closed his eyes and bowed his head.

"Admiral." Asher opened his eyes at being addressed. To his left stood his first officer. The bald young lieutenant looked at the Admiral with a stern expression. "You were given the order. We must perform it, or else we might lose more than the colony." His voice was cool, calm, collected, a slight accent tinting his baritone voice. Tension hung in the air. A mere lieutenant telling an admiral what to do?

On the recorder, the female voices sang a patriotic sonnet in an old language, Eastern European, a relic from the third world war. Such patriotism no longer applied in the 24th century. Loyalty to a country, a group, or a man was skirting with treason.

The Admiral looked this lieutenant straight in the eye.

"You do it."

The admission caught everyone on the bridge off guard, even the normally stoic lieutenant. The Admiral turned to the viewing screen, his eyes lost in a thousand-yard stare.

"I was never cut out to be a Starfleet officer. I never got to captain my own starship. I was given this job because I didn't stand out, because no one thought this would be anymore than a career end. "

He turned back to the lieutenant, prepared to impart the severity of this decision on the young man.

"But for years now, I have watched over this planet, fully aware of what goes on down there. I could have stopped it. I should have done anything. History will not be kind to me. But you have a future in Starfleet. If you make this decision, your career will be assured."

Not a sound reverberated through the bridge except the sound of a clock ticking.

"Once started, there is no going back. Are you prepared to go all the way, Jean?"

Lieutenant Jean-Luc Picard could only look out at the madness below as the weight of the decision to be made was placed squarely on his shoulders.

"Yes…yes, I am prepared to go all the way, my good admiral."

The Admiral placed his arms behind his back and walked over to the recorder. The Lieutenant took his place in front of the Captain's chair. He reached down and pressed a button on the arm of the chair.

"Now here this. Admiral Asher has relinquished command. I, Lieutenant Picard, do hereby take command. The colony is lost. As of now, we no longer have any say on whether our solilo is just. We can only contain, and hope that we do not reap what has been sown. Arm all batteries."

Across the spans of the ring, all the guns and bombs aimed downward, zeroing in on their intended targets.

"Weapons, begin self-destruct sequence."

"B-beginning, sir."

The Weapons officer inputed the self-destruct sequence for all of the labs on the surface. The bases would collapse on top of themselves, burying what was below to never be found again. The only comfort they could take was that those left behind would die a quick death.

"All weapons prepared, sir."

"May god help us all. Engage."

The music struck a crescendo, a hundred voices crying out in unison, then a low, powerful voice singing a dark, disturbing solo.

The bombardment began in earnest, obliterating the surface of the planet. The planet turned bright red, then orange, as world-destroying bombs covered everything under the atmosphere in cleansing fire. Anything not closed off hundreds of feet below the surface would be burned, and even if anyone survived, and dug their way out, the fire would destroy all sources of water and food. Within minutes, not a single scrap of life remained.

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Though he held no love lost for the annihilated planet, he still felt a pang of loss, as it was the planet on which he had been given life, the first planet he had known, even if he had only stood on its surface for a few fleeting minutes.

They had managed to slip the ship outside of the ring before the bombardment had begun. Thanks to their genetic superiority, he and the others like him had quickly deciphered how to get the ship off the ground and into orbit. They had joined with the other ships escaping the planet to remain incognito in the confused exodus, but would soon break off once they had forced the remaining captured crew to show them the full capabilities of the ship. Though he had understood that any crew member they killed could potentially be the one with the information they needed, he had been forced to execute a few out of necessity, as the crew could not be persuaded otherwise to quickly prepare and launch the ship from the planet. As there were only a few of them, he reasoned it would be necessary to convince the crew to their cause.

He sat in the Captain's chair. Around him stood all the other surviving experiments. Though accelerated in mind and body, at this moment they were lost. They could understand starship systems with one glimpse at an instruction manual, but their creators hadn't seen fit to giving them the knowledge of what to do with these skills.

He was standing on a threshold. There was an incredible amount of work to be done. Conquest would not be easy, nor quick. There would be setbacks, lost battles, hours of incredible despair and defeat.

But the first step had been the most important. It was here that he had been most vulnerable. Now, victory was all but assured.

In due time, they would call him master, lord, king, tsar, emperor.

Khan.


End file.
